


Sight Unseen

by AZGirl



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:23:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5219558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AZGirl/pseuds/AZGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>D’Artagnan was absolutely certain that the three Musketeers were good men and were his friends, but could he trust them with this aspect of himself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sight Unseen

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during the first season and is slightly AU. 
> 
> Please note: It is a tale told in the past (italics) and in the present.

**ooooooo**

 

" _There is no friendship that cares about an overheard secret_." ~~~ Alexandre Dumas

 

**ooooooo**

 

“How do you do that?” Porthos asked in a whisper after stumbling over yet another unseen obstacle. 

“Do what?” he quietly replied, hoping he sounded genuinely perplexed.  

 

ooooooo

 

_One of the last things he can clearly remember of that particular day was his father asking him to groom the horses just after he’d finished his lessons. Charles had gotten up before the sun with his father and done the regular, everyday chores. Afterwards, he had gone back into the house to do his lessons.  
_

_Most of the boys his age had ended their schooling at least one or more years before, but his father had insisted he continue. He still did not understand why. What good were more lessons going to be to him after he took over the farm? It’s not like he would ever have the chance to be anything else but a farmer, even with the training his father had given him with a sword.  
_

_The horses were of course groomed in some way every day, but when he was asked to do it, that meant head to toe grooming until the horses’ coats were gleaming. It was something he was particularly good at because he just seemed to have a way with the animals – or so his father said. Sometimes – most of the time – Charles thought it was because no one else wanted to do the labor-intensive task.  
_

_On that day, the last day for too many long months that he would see the sun, he walked into the barn. After that, things get fuzzy in his memory.  
_

_When he’d been told the reality of his situation, he had railed against the injustice of it given that he was still so young and had his whole life ahead of him. Charles had almost undone any recovering he’d done to that point with his intense, emotional reaction, and it was some time before his father could calm him down.  
_

_Some hours later, his father told him what they think happened._

 

ooooooo

 

He and Porthos had been on guard duty when an intruder had been spotted inside the palace. 

When confronted, the man had managed to escape and take off towards the very series of tunnels in which he had confronted Vadim not so long ago. They were now hunting the man down. 

In such a rush as they chased after the trespasser, neither of them had thought to grab a torch on their way into the tunnels. On the other hand, their intruder had more foresight, and he and Porthos were doing their best to follow along after the man, using what little light the torch threw their way in order to navigate. 

Porthos had been in the lead but had difficulties moving along the dark tunnels without stumbling, and they had been falling farther and farther behind their quarry. D’Artagnan, having no such issues with the dark, took the lead from Porthos, helping his friend as best he could to avoid obstacles and managing to catch up to the intruder. 

Based on the number of steps they had taken and the picture of the tunnel system, they were close to the section that Vadim had used to make his escape to the river with the crown jewels. 

D’Artagnan shuddered at the thought of his time with that manipulative madman. The explosion that he’d barely escaped with his life had been loud enough to make his ears ring. He had not been able to use his hearing to track and apprehend Vadim. Luckily he’d stumbled upon him, and he’d used the tricks he had learned during those long months without sight to outwit the man. 

With this new threat, he had not stopped to think about what he was doing before using his tricks, and now had to think of how to finish the job without completely revealing himself. He was really beginning to enjoy the friendship and comradery of the Musketeers, but didn’t yet trust them with that part of himself. 

It was then that he heard the trespasser make a wrong turn, causing him to grin. All they had to do was be in just the right place when their quarry realized his mistake. The intruder, blinded by the light of his own torch, would walk right into their waiting arms. 

His plan worked and the Châtelet had a new occupant before nightfall.

 

ooooooo

 

_From what his father had observed from the evidence left behind, he had walked into the barn, probably to start grooming Buttercup first. He had always started with the Bearn pony because it had been his mother’s horse, so Charles knew that was entirely likely. However, something had gone wrong with Firefoot, his father’s horse. Edgar, a farm hand who was working on sharpening a scythe at the time, had heard some nervous whinnying and stamping of hooves coming from the barn.  
_

_It was his father’s guess that he had gone over to Firefoot’s stall just as the horse had managed to kick its stall door open, surprising him and causing him to fall backwards, hitting his head on a support post. Apparently, the stall’s latch had been more rusted than it had appeared, allowing it to break apart more easily. Firefoot had run out of the barn into the yard, and his father and Edgar had rushed in to find Charles unconscious and crumpled up against the post with blood coming from a wound to the back of his head.  
_

_When he finally regained consciousness, nearly a day later, it was to a darkened room. All too quickly, he discovered that it wasn’t the room that was dark, but his entire world.  
_

_He was blind.  
_

_The physician had examined him once again, and after giving him more medicine for the pain, told him and his father that it was impossible to know if the condition was temporary or permanent. Given the physician’s prior experience with such wounds, his sight could come back in hours, days, weeks, or months. There was no way to know for sure, but the man guessed that with the length of time he’d been unresponsive, that it would probably take longer for his sight to return to normal – if it returned at all._

 

ooooooo

 

“How could you have possibly heard that?” Aramis asked as they made sure all of the men who had attacked them were dead. 

“My ears are much younger than yours,” d’Artagnan replied, forcing a cheeky grin onto his face and hoping the insult would make the older man forget about his recent feat.

 

ooooooo

 

_For more than a week following his diagnosis, Charles did not leave his bed except to use the chamber pot. At first, he could barely stay awake, but then as time went on, he began using sleep as a way to escape the pitch-black hell he was being forced to inhabit.  
_

_His head wound recovered slowly. For the first couple of days, he could barely lift his head up off the pillow without wanting to throw up or was dizzy or was in great pain – usually some combination of all three. The dizziness seemed to be dissipating, allowing him to not feel so off-balance. His headaches were still incredibly debilitating, and many times he wished the injury to his head had killed him due of the extreme pain which no medicine seemed able to touch.  
_

_While he had been recovering physically, his emotional state had continued to deteriorate. Charles had only ever felt such sadness and hopelessness once before – the day his mother had died.  
_

_He had never before been afraid of the dark. Yet, this total darkness that he could not escape frightened him. He was useless now. With his sight gone, he couldn’t help his father work the farm or help around the house. Reading and practicing sword fighting and practically everything else he used to do were also now impossible.  
_

_Charles was alive, but he didn’t feel as though he were living. He was trapped within himself and surrounded by a dark void made up not only of his lost vision but of his lack of hope that he would ever be the person he was before the accident._

 

ooooooo

 

Several weeks after the incident with the palace intruder, he was sent out on what Porthos called a ‘cake run’ with Aramis. 

Their mission was to deliver several missives to one of Louis’ ministers who lived much of the year many leagues south of Paris. One of the missives required an immediate answer and they had been ordered to stay until they had received it. 

Some problem on the minister’s estate meant that they had been delayed a lot longer than they would’ve liked. As a result, by the time they stopped for the night, they were too far from an inn and had to camp out in the open. This was risky because the information they carried was back to Paris was of a sensitive nature. 

Aramis had been sharing some embarrassing stories about Porthos and Athos, ones that d’Artagnan didn’t think he’d ever hear if the other men were around, when he heard something. He made as if he were still paying attention to the current story and strained his hearing to listen to his surroundings. 

He was just about to give up when he heard a voice. As it continued to speak, it was coming closer and closer to their camp, and was talking about how they needed at least one of them alive to answer questions. 

D’Artagnan waited as long as he could for a louder noise to “react,” making Aramis stop mid-sentence to ask him what was wrong. Instead of answering, he tilted his head, acting as if he had just then heard something which had made him snatch up the pistol sitting next to his thigh. 

In reaction to his actions, Aramis went on alert and grabbed his own weapon. 

“Where?” Aramis asked in an undertone, making it look as if he were settling down to sleep. 

Hand low to the ground, d’Artagnan surreptitiously pointed to a wooded area to the east and showed four fingers, indicating how many men he had heard. 

With his warning, the two of them were able to turn the attempted ambush against them back onto their attackers, easily defeating them and keeping the missives they carried safe from enemy hands. 

After they had checked for more potential attackers, taken care of the bodies, and settled back down for the night, Aramis had asked him how he’d known the men were there. His answer, mocking his friend’s age, worked to distract the older man from inquiring further as they hurled ludicrous insults back and forth for at least a half an hour.

 

ooooooo

 

_Two weeks after he first heard the news that he may never regain his vision, his father helped him out of bed and outside to sit in the sun. He could feel the sun on his skin and lamented the fact that he would never again see it rise or set. Charles didn’t feel much like being outside after he realized that fact.  
_

_Several days later as he was sitting on the low wall that surrounded part of the house, waiting for someone to take him back inside the house, his father had come up to him and handed him an object. He felt along it and discovered it was a walking stick. He threw it to the ground and refused to listen to anything his father said about it.  
_

_The next morning, his father came for him in his room, where he had been sitting in a chair next to an open window. He had been despairing of his condition until he began to hear a pleasant sound that he eventually decided was the wind blowing through the trees surrounding the opposite side of the main house as a wind break. Charles would come to rely on that calming sound in the weeks and months to come.  
_

_His father led him through the house and outside the front door by a couple of steps before abruptly stopping. He was handed the walking stick, but before he could throw it away, his father clasped a hand over his, preventing the action. In a calm voice, his parent asked him how to get to the barn.  
_

_Later on he was ashamed for yelling at his father and had begged the man’s forgiveness, but at the time he’d felt justified. Didn’t the man understand that his only child couldn’t see?  
_

_After quietly standing by, allowing the abusive verbal outburst, his father grabbed his shoulders and gave him a slight shake.  
_

_“Think!” his father said, gently shaking him again. “The front door is right behind you. Where is the barn?”  
_

_Not being able to see his father’s face, instead only hearing the odd tone of voice coming out his parent’s mouth, unnerved him. His hand trembled as he raised it and pointed it towards his right.  
_

_“Good.” Charles could hear that his father’s voice had calmed, which aided in calming him as well.  
_

_His father let go of the hand holding the walking stick and Charles sensed movement behind him. A hand touched his and guided the walking stick until he heard it hit something, which he guessed was a rock. He was guided another step forward and the hand with the stick was moved so that it hit another object – another rock. This process was repeated until he could begin to clearly hear the horses and other animals within the barn.  
_

_“Do you understand, Son?” his father asked when his stick hit the wooden edge of the entrance to the barn.  
_

_Charles thought about what they had been doing the past few minutes and a picture formed in his mind. His father had laid down stone markers as a guide for him to be able to get to the barn. He wouldn’t be stuck in the house or constantly waiting for someone to have the time to guide him around the property. The ability to go between the barn and the house was more than enough. He had freedom again, and perhaps he would find ways to be useful again.  
_

_Tears formed in his eyes and as they made their way down his face, and he thanked God for a father who would take the time come up with and implement such an idea. Most people wouldn’t bother and would simply let nature take its course.  
_

_Charles reached out a hand toward where he thought his father was. When touched fabric, he gripped it tightly. “Yes, Father, I do.”_

 

ooooooo

 

“How did you find me?” Athos asked before coughing once, his voice sounding as if he had attempted to gargle gravel. 

“Luck,” d’Artagnan replied, hoping all of his obvious mistakes hadn’t been noticed, yet knowing Athos likely had not missed much.

 

ooooooo

 

_In the following days, he and his father figured out more ways for him to get by without his sight. His father read to him in the evenings so he wouldn’t fall too far behind on his lessons. He learned how to cut bread and vegetables without injuring his hand as well as pouring liquids into cups or bowls without spilling or making them overflow. He also created a workable system that made it so that he could feed the animals as well as groom them.  
_

_By counting his steps, he could navigate around his house and inside the barn without his walking stick. It was only between buildings that he needed it in order to keep to the right path by knocking his stick against the stones laid out by his father. He may not have been allowed out into the fields to help out, but there was still plenty to do in and around the house and barn.  
_

_Most importantly, he was no longer useless, and his pitch-black world was no longer quite as frightening.  
_

_One thing his father absolutely forbids was him working on sword play, except to drill his forms. At first, his lack of balance made the activity nearly impossible anyway, but eventually he overcomes that obstacle and can do them perfectly.  
_

_Over time, he realizes that he is learning to see without his eyes.  
_

_It doesn’t register at first, but his other senses begin to get more sensitive – especially his hearing. In the beginning, it was just the sound of the wind through the trees on the other side of the house. At the time, being able to hear such a noise had not seemed out of the realm of possibility.  
_

_However, it wasn’t until he reacted, in front of his father, to the sound of neighbor’s horses coming towards the house from a great distance that he realized that he was hearing things he shouldn’t be able to hear. His father had been amazed to see him lift his head and look towards the sound of the horses long before he could see them turning the bend in the road and heading their way._

 

ooooooo

 

Captain Tréville had sent them on a mission to determine the validity of some intel that accused a baron to the west of being in league with those who wouldn’t mind seeing King Louis assassinated in order to accomplish their goals for glory and power. 

They had stopped at an inn located just outside the border of the baron’s land for the night, intending on pursuing the truth further the next morning. Once they entered the inn, it seemed all activity within had suddenly ceased, before it abruptly began again. The others thought it was because it was unusual to see so many Musketeers in that part of the country. 

D’Artagnan however, remained on edge. He heard a few unkind comments muttered about them, but nothing that would necessitate action – until he began to feel somewhat disoriented as he ate the stew that had been provided to them for their meal. By the time he heard someone mention that the food was drugged, it was far too late to do anything about it. 

When he woke up in bed the next morning, he thought that he had dreamt the entire incident. He looked towards the other bed in the room and noticed that Athos was not there. Figuring that the older man had been too drunk to make it back upstairs and into bed, d’Artagnan quickly dressed and went down to look for him. 

He started to panic when he realized that there was no one else in the downstairs part of the inn – including Athos. Rushing outside, he could still not find any sign of his friend or anyone else, for that matter. His panic and worry increasing, he went upstairs and barged into the room assigned to Aramis and Porthos, startling the two men awake. 

Though relieved to find that at least two of his friends were still with him, he was extremely worried that Athos was nowhere to be found. That’s when it hit him that his dream had _not_ been a dream. Frantically, he explained to his still-groggy friends what he thought had happened: they had been drugged and Athos had been taken. 

It wasn’t difficult to guess who could be behind the attack, which made tracking those who had taken Athos much easier. However, being so few men and seeing the numbers the baron employed, they reluctantly decided that waiting until just before sunset to go after Athos to be the best plan, though they feared what would be done to their friend in the intervening hours. 

It had been difficult and they’d almost been caught numerous times, but they managed to infiltrate the baron’s chateau. As they searched they discovered stairs leading down to a maze of hallways and cave-like rooms chiseled out of the chateau’s stone foundation. 

Soon after they had made it down and had been looking for signs of Athos, the alarm was raised when Aramis almost literally ran into one of the guards and a pistol was fired. D’Artagnan cursed his tricks and himself for not being quick enough to warn Aramis. 

The three of them engaged the baron’s men, and were succeeding in keeping them held off when Porthos ordered him to go after Athos. Behind him, he could hear the sounds of fighting and was assured of his friends’ well-being. Ahead of him, it was nearly pitch black and he had to use everything he knew in order to keep from getting lost. 

At first, he thought he had imagined the voice, but after a few more steps, he knew it to belong to Athos, despite the odd-sounding quality to it. Given the dark, he didn’t expect there to be a guard and was rewarded to find only a bolted, iron door. The bolt sliding back was overly loud to his ears and he found Athos tied up with both of his wrists above his head and a wall of wine casks at the very back of the room. 

“Athos, it’s me. It’s d’Artagnan,” he said as he cut his friend’s bonds. 

It wasn’t until the two of them had nearly reached the place where he’d last seen Aramis and Porthos that Athos had asked his question. 

That was when he realized his mistake. Never before had he been so careless with what he could do.

 

ooooooo

 

_The day he woke up and found his world to be gray and not black was one of the happiest in his life. He got down on his knees and thanked God. If he could see gray, then one day perhaps he would see all the colors again. Truly see, with no tricks and just his eyes.  
_

_Unfortunately, his grayed-out vision took a seemingly long time to fade away.  
_

_At first, Charles was happy to not be constantly surrounded by complete darkness, but as time went on, there was little if any improvement and he began to get discouraged again.  
_

_He also realized that he had to readjust all over again to this new ‘sight’ of his. Charles learned how to distinguish nuances within the gray. In no time at all, this ability to see those gradations became just another of the well-honed tricks that he used to get by around the farm, though he could best see the differences during the day. At night, he sometimes felt as if he were still trapped in his pitch black world.  
_

_After a while, he began to think that his gray world was going to be as far as his vision would recover.  
_

_Then one day, he began to notice that the gray was becoming lighter, that he was beginning to see actual shapes. In fact, as the gray fog clouding his vision lifted, color returned to his life. They were muted at first, but he could recognize the different colors of his world – the red settee his mother had loved, the green of the trees, his father’s favorite brown shirt.  
_

_However, the one color that he had missed most was the yellow of the sun. The day his vision cleared enough where he could truly see it again, he rejoiced, he laughed, he cried, he praised God for His mercy in restoring his vision. It wasn’t quite back to what it had been before the accident, but in that moment he was hopeful of that outcome._

 

ooooooo

 

“D’Artagnan, are you ever going to tell me how you found me?” Athos asked, though he was supposed to be resting his voice. One of his captors had tried choking the man in order to get him to give up information. 

“Athos, I—”

 

ooooooo

 

_It was around the time that his vision completely returned that he stopped wearing a hat. He simply couldn’t bear to have one block any part of his vision now that he could see the bright, yellow sun he’d missed for so long.  
_

_He had missed out on so many months in blackness not seeing the sun, only knowing its heat and not its power to illuminate and eliminate the dark.  
_

_His neighbors wondered at his new habit and thought him strange when they found out why, but he reckoned that unless someone had been through what he had that they wouldn’t understand.  
_

_After several months, he grew tired of trying, so he stopped answering people’s inquiries about his lack of a hat. He grew used to overhearing the comments said behind his back and became adept at ignoring them. Eventually, people accepted that he did not wear one and the comments stopped._

 

ooooooo

 

By some miracle, they managed to get out of the chateau and off the baron’s lands with Athos, without getting killed, and without serious injury. They rode until they and their horses were more than exhausted. It was evident that they had succeeded in their mission to confirm Tréville’s intel about the baron was accurate. 

However, it wasn’t until they were in another inn (one where Aramis knew the owners), that his friend once again brought the subject up. Athos was resting in bed, recovering from his brief captivity while d’Artagnan was sitting in a chair keeping the older man company. 

D’Artagnan didn’t know what to say. It was obvious that Athos suspected something, perhaps even realized that d’Artagnan was a little different from most other people, but it was equally obvious that his friend wasn’t certain of his suspicions. 

He thought back to the months after his sight had returned. After he had adjusted to the fact that he could use his eyes and didn’t have to rely on his tricks, his father had hosted a celebration. The boys his age had quickly realized that Charles had developed some unusual skills and some had taken advantage of that fact, while others condemned him as a freak of nature. 

As a result, his trust in those he still thought of as friends was damaged. After a while, he had learned to pretend that once his sight had been back for some time, that his skills had faded and he was now as ‘normal’ as everyone else. Never again did he purposely let that side of him out into the light of day. 

However, with Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, he had begun to think of the older men as friends and had become lax in his resolve to keep his tricks hidden from them. He knew that the others had seen him do things that could not easily be explained. 

D’Artagnan was absolutely certain that the three Musketeers were good men and were his friends, but could he trust them with this aspect of himself? 

Athos laid a hand a d’Artagnan’s forearm, causing him to flinch. When he looked at Athos, the man had a sad yet disappointed look on his face. 

“You are our friend and a Musketeer in all but name. Don’t you know that we would never forsake you for something that you have used to save our lives? Do you not trust us?” 

And that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? Did he trust these men to know about his tricks, what he could do? 

He looked Athos in the eyes and saw an honest need to know the truth, a need to get to know him better. If Athos felt this way, then it was more than likely that Aramis and Porthos felt the same. 

“Athos, I—I want to tell you a story. It’s about something that happened to me when I was younger…”

 

ooooooo

 

_Oddly enough, it took him some time to readjust to once again being sighted. The full light of day hurt his eyes and gave him headaches. Thankfully, those issues quickly faded away, though he noticed that he had become accustomed to using his tricks and sometimes still found himself counting steps or forming pictures in his head of his surroundings because of them.  
_

_His hearing remained sharp, so much so that the next time a snake chose to come into the barn seeking warmth, he heard it and took care of it before it could get the horses too agitated.  
_

_In the near dark, his ability to see the nuances in the grays and blacks helped him to easily maneuver through his surroundings, while others would’ve stumbled over any obstacles. He only picked up a torch or other light source because it was expected of him, not because he needed it.  
_

_Years later, his hearing still remained sharper than it had been before his accident. In time, he’d learned to never give away that fact away after several incidents involving people who were now former friends. Teaching himself to not flinch at the loudest of noises had been difficult.  
_

_Four months, twenty-three days.  
_

_During that time, he had learned to see despite being blind, and somehow over the years he had managed to hold onto the knack of those tricks.  
_

_He tried not to let on about his skills, not comfortable with reliving those dark months, and tired of being used by so-called friends to make money. He tried to be careful and not let others see his abilities, but it became more and more difficult the longer he knew Athos, Aramis, and Porthos. The more comfortable he became with the Musketeers, the more he realized he wasn’t being as careful as he should be._

 

ooooooo

 

When he was finished telling his story, Athos did not immediately react, making d’Artagnan worry that he’d made the wrong decision. 

Just as Athos was about to speak, some noise from outside the room caught his attention. For the first time in many years, d’Artagnan let himself react in full view of someone else. 

Athos’ expression changed to one of open curiosity. “Aramis and Porthos?” 

D’Artagnan only nodded at first, but despite still feeling uncertain, he said, “Yes, they are coming up the stairs and”—he paused and crossed his arms over his chest—“they are wondering if you’ve talked to me yet.” 

He sighed and looked towards the door, listening to the two men talk. So, all three had suspected him? He should’ve known that trained soldiers wouldn’t be fooled by his lame denials. Besides, he had slipped up enough times by now, that they had to know he was hiding something. 

When he turned back toward Athos, the man had a wicked gleam in his eye. 

“What?” d’Artagnan asked, confused by the expression. 

Athos nodded towards the door. “You do realize that your talents could be useful?” 

D’Artagnan’s heart leapt up into his throat at the words. Had he been wrong about Athos? Was the man going to be like the others from his home? 

“Useful,” d’Artagnan said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Yes, I do believe that Aramis and Porthos are due some payback for the prank they pulled on us several weeks ago.” 

When realization of what Athos had said came to him, it was too late to react, because that was when their two friends entered the room with a tray of food. 

His quickly schooled his expression, but when their eyes finally met again, d’Artagnan smiled. Perhaps conspiring with Athos to pull a prank – or two – on Aramis and Porthos was in order _before_ he told them his secret. 

ooooooo 

_The end._

**ooooooo**

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies for the lack of accuracy regarding the medical aspects of the story.
> 
> Buttercup was the name of d’Artagnan’s horse at the beginning of The Three Musketeers. Anyone want to guess what literary character had a horse named, Firefoot?
> 
> Cross-posted to fanfiction.net.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
